


immaculate

by kyrilu



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Pregnancy Scares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 15:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: "Crowley, I - I do believe I might be -expecting- and you may be the father.""What.""Well - remember when we visited the London Zoo last week? I made a miracle or two to give some endangered animals a hand at reproduction, and I may have been overzealous. I've had a mad craving for eggs and my stomach has been feeling rather peculiar."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 98





	immaculate

**Author's Note:**

> Um. I was reading a manga oneshot with a cracky pregnancy scare premise (Your Jinx by Fumiko Takada) and thought, _what if Aziraphale and Crowley???_ Plus, I've been reading Discworld lately, so the Pratchett narrative voice is kinda fresh in mind for me. So this happened... I really didn't expect this, but it's fun to be writing again, and I know this is very silly and sappy.

"Crowley, I - I do believe I might be - _ expecting _ \- and you may be the father."

"What."

"Well - remember when we visited the London Zoo last week? I made a miracle or two to give some endangered animals a hand at reproduction, and I may have been overzealous. I've had a mad craving for eggs and my stomach has been feeling rather peculiar." Aziraphale at least had the grace to look embarrassed; he looked down at his stomach and gave it a light pat.

"_Angel_," Crowley said, aghast.

The thing is - the absurd thing is - that didn’t sound entirely impossible, Crowley thought, in despair.

During the Flood, the both of them had managed to sneak aboard Noah’s ark, and Aziraphale had _ tried _ to help the remaining unicorn, he truly did, but he misfired and the two rat population exploded overnight. It was a feast Crowley couldn’t turn down at the time, but of course he got absolutely sick of rat after five days and couldn’t even eat it to this day.*

(*Before you ask, no, the rats couldn’t be miracled away. Maybe it had to do with their holy origin. Aziraphale had been appropriately apologetic and had helpfully held Crowley by the tail over the ship’s railing as he spat out rat guts. Crowley is ninety-nine percent sure that all modern day rats are descended from Aziraphale’s ark rats.) 

“I thought you promised yourself to leave all this surprise conception business to, y’know,” Crowley said faintly. “Her.”

“African penguins are listed as endangered on the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species, and I felt bad for the poor things--”

Crowley cut him off. “Why do you say it’s mine? If it’s just you and immaculate holy spirit-y stuff, then I’m not, er, involved.”

“I’ve been craving _ eggs_, Crowley. Eggs. It’s a rather serpentine preference, don’t you think?” 

“Yes, but--”

“We have been around each other an awful lot, and…” Aziraphale turned away his face again. “A slip-up, perhaps. Overstepping boundaries. A problem of proximity. Which is what I’ve attempted to be cautious about for centuries.”

What the heaven was he on about? They had often been going to dinner - watching plays and films together - visiting museums - playing games of pachisi and rummy - long walks in parks - and so on and so forth. It was like their usual Arrangement, but with some variety and routine mixed in, because the world hadn’t ended; they’d survived it together; and there was no point in pretending that immortal life was an eternal battle of good versus evil when you’d rather visit quaint hipster coffee shops with your nemesis and bicker over houseplant care methods.

Crowley said, “Oh stop it, Aziraphale. There’s nothing wrong spending time with me. And to insist that - this - whatever it is - is a consequence is ridiculoussss. It’s not like we’re--”

The word, or concept, or idea of what they could or should be immediately died in his throat.

It wasn’t as if he had never thought of it before. It was in his eyes every time he looked at Aziraphale. It was in his hands every time he touched Aziraphale - incidental momentary contact, like when they reached for the wine bottle at the same time. It was in his words every time he spoke: _ Angel. _ It was in his dreams, in his thoughts, in his _ heart* _ of this stupid demon body.

(*It’s a commonly held belief that demons don’t have hearts. They do, if they try hard enough.)

For a frantic minute, Crowley thought: _ What if Aziraphale really is pregn--no, don’t you dare finish that thought--but if he is, am I supposed to make a grand declaration or something--or get on one knee--I don’t have a ring!!--how do humans handle these situations? _

A beat.

Aziraphale said, “Hmm. On second thought, I think I may have drank too much coffee from that last place we went. Or it had bad milk. Let me fix that--” He closed his eyes, concentrating. “Oh. Yes. Too much coffee, that was the case.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped open.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, his tone sincere. He reached out, and he took Crowley’s hand into his. “Maybe next time, when we’re ready.”

Crowley choked. Then he saw the gentle amusement in Aziraphale’s eyes. He curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s, and sighed.

“Ask me out like a normal person, you idiot angel.”

Well. They weren’t exactly normal, and they weren’t exactly people, either.

Crowley felt that unspoken word, that unspoken idea, take hold of him again. It was on the tip of his tongue when he kissed Aziraphale for the first time, and Aziraphale kissed back, pressed it back into him -- _love._


End file.
